Sunken in moonbeams, a silvery world snores —
Exclaiming softly in a very faint breeze
As the pale wraiths hustle
And a solitary bird rustles
The pitch black leaves of these
Presently, we have
A wispy little girl —
Dirt on her cheek
And pigtails in disarray —
Whimpering as she kneels in front of the grave
Of her father.
Now, a wraith brushes past her,
Trails its fingers across her face
"It's okay, it's alright," it tries to say
But the girl only cries some more;
She says, seemingly to no one at all,
"My father is dead and my sister, she lies under six feet of snow.
Where am I supposed to go?"
So here she waits
Shamless and dumb.
As the moon pales in anguish
And an owl screeches in alarm.